


I Need You So Much Closer

by niiventi



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: How Do I Tag, M/M, Singer!Jean, bar au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-24
Updated: 2014-03-27
Packaged: 2018-01-09 20:15:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1150337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niiventi/pseuds/niiventi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(On Hiatus)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Jean drummed his fingers against the surface of the wooden bar in annoyance, idly scanning the faces of each person in the room. He wasn’t sure why he had taken this job in the first place, which was performing music for a local bar in town. The pay was shit, he rarely got to play, and the hours were unfair. Franz, the man who ran the bar, made up for his lack of performance by using him as a busboy. Jean had argued with him about this more than once, reminding him that his job was, in fact, to play music for the audience, _not_ to wipe down filthy tables and act as a stand in waiter when someone was a no show. But, despite how many times he stressed this, the answer was always the same: “You’re _my_ employee, and I will use you how I see fit. Don’t like it? Find another job.”

                Jean scowled at the thought, glaring at a person that had caught his wandering gaze. They quickly broke eye contact, resuming their meal. _Yeah_ , he thought bitterly, _that’s what I thought_.

                As much as Jean hated to admit it, he was in no position to be storming out of this job in a rage, finally quitting after threatening it so many times before. He had dropped out of high school earlier on, claiming that it wasn’t his thing. Though he absolutely resented the fact that he had done so, wishing that he had held on just awhile longer and made something out of his life. He probably still could, but he was way too proud and stubborn to even consider doing so, telling himself that he could still make something out of this and that he had made the right decision. But, without a high school diploma, _or_ a college degree, it was very rare to find a well paying job.

                He had been lucky to even get _this_ job, as it was. They hadn’t been hiring at the time, and had it not been for his friend, Connie, he would probably still be out of a job and living with his parents.

                This job paid just enough to allow him to pay for his apartment, clothes, and food on his own. Which honestly, what more did a person need? It was a comfortable life, albeit stressful at times, but comfortable none the less.

                But still, that didn’t stop him from complaining. _Nothing_ stopped Jean Kirschtein from complaining.

                “Kirschtein, booths three and five need to be wiped down. Rush hour is about to set in and we’re understaffed tonight. We need to be prepared.”

                Jean rolled his eyes, pushing himself up and away from the bar and stretching his back. “Let me guess, I’ve got serving duty. _Again_.”

                “Uhh huh.” Franz sounded, counting out some change for a customer and paying him no mind.

                “Great.” Grabbing the rag that he had earlier discarded onto the counter, he turned, setting off in the direction of the booths, a deep scowl etched into his features.

                He was just finishing up with the last booth when the bells above the front door jingled, sounding someone’s entrance. Jean straightened up, slinging the cloth over his shoulder, and glanced towards the source of the noise.

                Making his way from the front of the bar was a tall, dark haired, freckled man. Jean watched him as he strode purposefully through the room, finally coming to a stop in front of Franz. There was a bright smile adorning his lips as he greeted him, his dark eyes wide and hopeful. Though he was well out of earshot, by the look on the man’s face Jean could more or less guess that he was asking about a job.

                _Good fucking luck, buddy_ , Jean thought sourly, emitting a snort. It had taken Connie weeks on end of pestering Franz to get him his job, and even then he hadn’t gotten a call back about it for about another week or so. If he had five bucks to spare on something so stupid, he would have bet that this guy would be leaving without that friendly smile plastered across his face.

                Glancing back down at the table he had been working on and away from the exchange, he noticed that he had missed a spot. Huffing in irritation at the speck of dried food, he set back to work, scrubbing furiously at the wooden surface and muttering curses to himself.

                So caught up in destroying the fleck of food that was seemingly glued to the table, taunting him, he failed to notice the figure now looming over him. “Hello! Are you Jean?” Jean started, dropping the rag and knocking over an assortment of condiments in his surprise. Jerking his head up in the direction of the voice, amber eyes blazing in irritation, he recognized him as the freckled man from earlier. Before he could get a word out, the man laughed cheerfully, leaning over the table and setting the fallen objects in their more or less proper place. “Sorry about that! I didn’t mean to scare you, I just-“

                “ _You didn’t scare me_.” Jean snapped, straightening up to become level with freckled nuisance. Though the man was taller than himself, the glare that was pointed in his direction made up for it. He said nothing, opening and closing his mouth a few times, trying and failing for a response to Jean’s vehement rudeness. “What do you want?” Jean asked, finally, turning away from the man and bending back over the booth, resuming his mission to rid the table of the damned speck.  “And you better speak fast. I’m busy and I have better things to do, _other_ than stand around all day waiting for you to spit it out.”

                Yes, Jean was being harsh. He knew that. He knew that he should probably lighten up on the guy, seeing as he wasn’t the cause of Jean’s inner turmoil. But he couldn’t help it. He was fed up with this shitty job, and the shitty chores, and the shitty piece of food that would not detach its self from the surface of the table no matter how hard he scrubbed at it. And what’s more? He had been called in early this morning to sweep the parking lot free of leaves and clean the glasses from the night prior, seeing as Jaeger decided to skip out on his job _yet again_ to do whatever pains in the asses do. And having not been prepared to be called in early, he hadn’t had time to stop for coffee on the way as he usually did, let alone make his own. So, yeah. Though this guy probably didn’t deserve the shit attitude that was being thrown in his direction right now, he should have known from just one look to stay out of his path today. Or at least, that was Jean’s reasoning on the situation.

                “A-ah. Right.” The man stuttered out, tugging at the bottom of his shirt to straighten it out. “Well, Franz told me to come find you. It’s my first day, so he told me that he would like you to train me.” Jean stood up again, arching an eyebrow in his direction. “O-or, at least point me in the right direction of what to do with myself?” He said, his words coming out as a question due to the incredulous look that was being pointed in his direction.

                “You got the job? That fast?” He asked, disbelieving.

                “What? No, I called in a few weeks ago and asked about it. He told me that he was understaffed and could use all of the help he could get, so I got it.” He shrugged, the friendly smile back in place. Jean stared at him, his eyebrows scrunched together. _What the shit._ He basically had to fight tooth and nail to get this job, just barely grabbing it by the skin of his teeth, and this guy calls in _one time_ and lands it? What kind of absolute bullshit was that?

                Yeah, now this guy was pissing him off. Snatching the rag from the table, Jean shoved it against the guy’s chest, brushing past him in search of Franz. “Training, lesson one; get that fucking piece of food off of the table.” He snapped over his shoulder, scowling.

                He caught Franz by the arm just as he was making his way out the door and opened his mouth, intent on letting him have a piece of his mind: Where did he think he was going? Where was Jaeger? And just where did he get off hiring someone after just one phone call while everyone else had to work their asses off to get where they were.

                 Franz’s eyebrows shot up as he was jerked to a halt, but when he laid eyes on Jean, he smiled, clapping him on the shoulder. He spoke before Jean could get a word out, cutting off the shit storm Jean was about to incur. “Good news for you, with the new kid here to take over your normal position, you can perform tonight. All you have to do is show him the ropes, and then you can go on.” Jean’s mouth hung open, suspended mid air as he let that sink in. Ok, so the new guy landing this job wasn’t as bad as he had originally thought. The thought of getting to perform after almost a year of not being able to do so due to being understaffed, was enough to raise his mood considerable. Closing his mouth, his expression relaxed, the anger almost visibly melting off of him.   

                Maneuvering himself out of Jean’s grip, Franz shuffled the rest of the way out of the door, turning back to look at him once more. “I’m taking off for awhile, I have somewhere to be. You know the drill; Look after things while I’m gone, keep everything in order, and if I’m not back before closing time, lock up.” Not giving him a chance to respond, he slipped all the way out, bells jingling as the door slid to a gentle close. Jean nodded, turning back around, a small smile playing on his lips as he strode back towards the new guy. Maybe this day wasn’t as bad as he had made it out to be, after all.

                As he neared where the man was standing, he noted that the rag was slung over his shoulder as he leaned against the seat of the booth, gazing out around the room. His expression was glazed over, as if he were deep in thought.

                “I thought I told you to clean the table?” He called out as he neared him, his tone considerably lighter than it had been a few moments prior.

                The freckled man looked relieved at this as he shifted his dark eyes over to Jean, smiling cheerfully.  “Oh, I did. I got the speck you were having trouble with.” Jean furrowed his eyebrows together, pushing past him to see for himself. And, just as he had said, the stain was no more. The table gleamed spotlessly in the light above, almost as if to tell him that this guy, who had been here for merely ten minutes, was already doing his job better than him.

                Jean emitted a loud sigh, propping a hand on the table. _This guy has been sent here straight from freckled hell just to spite me._ Seeming to notice his irritation at having been one-upped, the man quickly added “But I’d say you got it most of the way off before I got here, what with how hard you were scrubbing at it. There wasn’t much left for me to do.” Jean glanced sideways at him, saying nothing. _And he’s nice. Of course he’s nice. “_ Anyways, I don’t think I introduced myself. I’m Marco.” He said, stretching out one tan, lightly freckled hand, his expression warm and friendly.

                Jean vaguely considered telling him to fuck off and shove his friendly greetings up his ass, but he knew that he didn’t deserve that. As innocently annoying as he was, he meant no harm. He _really was_ just trying to be nice, despite Jean’s suspicions towards cheekiness.

                Jean shook his outstretched hand after a moment with his own, smiling slightly. “Jean,” He said, “Though you already knew that.”

                Marco’s smile grew wider, if that was even possible, causing his eyes to crinkle at the corners. “It’s nice to meet you, Jean. I look forward to working with you.”

                Jean nodded, withdrawing his hand and tucking it in his pocket. “Likewise.”

                The sound of the bells halted their conversation for the time being, causing Jean to turn, and Marco to look up. His large, dark eyes widened at the sight of the sudden influx of people that were now pouring in through the door, chattering loudly. The sound quickly filled the once quiet bar, causing Jean to grimace. _Here we go._

                “Well, Marco,” He said, bringing a hand down on the taller mans shoulder as he moved to stand beside him. “Looks like we have a long night ahead of us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahh yeah i'm not really sure about this at all. i've never written a fic before, other than short drabble that went absolutely no where. so i apologize wholeheartedly if this sucks and if they are not in character. im still trying to figure it all out
> 
> (i should probably mention that the franz in this fic is not the same franz as in the anime/manga, so if he seemed out of character to you, thats why.)


	2. Faith

Jean was standing to the left, just off stage and out of sight.

                As he stood there, leaned against the bricked wall, he gave his guitar a few experimental strums before reaching up to tune it accordingly.

                A few hours had passed since the lunchtime rush hour, and it was now winding down towards late evening. Training Marco and filling him in on what his job would consist of had been a more time consuming task than he had originally anticipated. Sooner than he knew it the sun was sinking down just below the bustling Manhattan skyline, fading from a warm, sunny, fall day, to a pink skied, chilly afternoon. A cool, gusting wind had picked up as late evening set it, nipping through the jackets of the people rushing home for the evening.

                Spending time with Marco hadn’t been as bad as Jean had anticipated it would be. He’d made the day go by that much quicker, and maybe even made it enjoyable. And although Jean would never admit it, he was thankful. Work was miserable for him, it had been ever since the day he’d started, but Marco had made it bearable for him with his cheerful demeanor and endless chattering, asking Jean things ranging from what he did for fun to where he could see himself in ten years. Though Jean feigned annoyance with his freckled coworker, it was a nice change of pace, not being alone. That was something Jean was a lot of.

                He didn’t really feel that _click_ or... _emotional bond_ with anyone, and had never really wanted to. He liked his solitude and the time spent to himself, not having to worry about getting back to anyone or keeping up with them. It had always seemed like too much effort to him. And besides that, no one had ever made an effort to _really_ get to know him, so why should he do the same?

                But still, it had been nice, having Marco chatter away at him, and actually be interested in the things that came out of his mouth as a response. Somewhere, in a back part of his mind, he hoped that Marco would stick around, one way or another.

                “Jean?” Said man jumped and turned, amber orbs darting in the direction of the voice. A freckled face smiled back at him, his eyes dancing with amusement. _Don’t even say it_ , Jean warned, narrowing his eyes at him. Marco, seeming to catch on, simply smiled and continued on. “I just wanted to say… good luck out there. Connie told me that this was your first time going on in awhile, so I can imagine that it’s a little nerve wracking, but I think that you’ll do great.” He said, raising his hand to Jean’s shoulder and resting it there.

                Jean only nodded, slightly taken aback by the sudden words of encouragement. Marco let his arm fall back to his side after a quick squeeze, and yet another one of his warming smiles. Jean turned away with a quiet sigh, making his way to the center of the stage.

                It had been awhile since he’d last stood in front of a crowd, so he was actually a bit nervous. But the moment he strummed out a few random notes, trying for everyone’s attention, and felt the spot light warm his face, a wave of familiarity and comfort washed over him. He felt at ease; at home.

                He looked around at the swarm of customers one last time, his eyes coming to a halt on the far left corner of the room where a certain freckled waiter happened to be standing. 

                Marco, who was staring back at him from behind the bar, gave him a thumbs up, flashing him one of his goofy smiles. Jean shook his head, smiling slightly before he began to strum, this time picking up a specific rhythm. A few customers scattered around the bar _ooh’ed_ , looking on with smiles as they recognized the tune right off. Feeling more confident, he put a bit more gusto behind his strums, the sound of his music filling the bar and drowning out the remaining conversations, most of which had died down the minute he took his seat on the stool.

                After taking a moment to clear his throat, Jean drew his face closer to the microphone, a smile curving his narrow lips upwards.

                [ **[Songstamp: 'Faith' by George Michael]**](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C9iDBkJqxNg)

“ _Well I guess it would be nice, if I could touch your body. I know not everybody has gotta body like you_.”

 

                He felt his heart flutter in excitement as he sang the first few lines, watching as more customers turned their heads in his direction, all eyes now on him. As he continued strumming, he could see more than a few people tapping their feet to the rhythm, or quietly singing along.

 

“ _But I gotta think twice, before I give my heart away. And I know all the games you play, because I play them too_.”

 

                  His eyes landed on Marco again as he drew away from the mic for a breath. He was leaning against the bar, his chin resting in the palm of his hand, his eyes glued to Jean and a smile stretching across his face. Jean nodded in acknowledgement at him, a smile now dancing across his own lips.

 

“ _Oh, well I need some time off from that emotion. Time to pick my heart up off the floor_.”

 

                As Jean’s eyes wandered excitedly, something else caught his attention. Standing a little ways behind Marco was none other than Eren Jaeger, smirking back at him. This in itself would have been enough to dampen Jean’s mood, had it not been for the dark haired beauty to his left.

 

 “ _Oh, when that love comes down, with-out devotion. Well it takes a strong man, baby, but I’m showing you the door_ -“

 

                Dark hues locked with amber as he leaned in towards the mic, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of her. She was, without a doubt, one of the most beautiful women he had ever come across. Even from where he was sitting, and in the dim light of the bar, he could make out her breathtaking features. Her face was delicately formed, with large, dark eyes, fringed with black lashes that left him reeling. She stared back at him uninterestedly.

 

“ _C-Cause I gotta have faith_.”

 

                _Oh, good job Jean, you absolute shit-stain_ , he cursed himself, a bead of perspiration beading on his forehead. He quickly slid his gaze away from the woman; _anywhere_ but that woman. As his eyes darted this way and that, searching for a safe face to rest on, they skimmed over Jaeger’s. He was laughing, elbowing Connie in the ribs as he flashed that shit eating grin in his direction. Jean ground his teeth together, swinging his focus back on Marco. _Fuckin’ Jaeger, won’t be smiling after I get off this stage, I can assure you that._

Marco smiled back at him encouragingly, mouthing for him to ‘ _breathe_ ’. Jean did just that, after silently thanking him; sucking in a quick breath before slipping right into his next line with the exhale.

 

“ _Ahh, I gotta have faith_.”  

 

                As his eyes scanned over the now growing crowd, the sound of music having brought more people pouring into the bar, he noted that no one seemed to have noticed his slip up. Either that or they just hadn’t cared. Realizing this, he began to relax, making sure to avoid letting his gaze drift back to the woman. Each person was enjoying the music in their own way; either tapping their feet, drumming against the table with their hands, or even singing along cheerfully (some a bit louder than others, due to the excessive amounts of alcohol they had consumed).

 

“ _Because I got to have faith, ah-faith. I’ve got to have faith, ah-faith, ah-faith, ahh_.”

 

                Pausing for a moment, he stopped strumming, letting his fingers hang frozen; suspended mid air. A few people who were unfamiliar to the song glanced up, confused and curious as to why the music and suddenly stopped. But those who knew the song by heart ,as Jean did, were smiling, waiting for what they knew was to come. Marco was among those of which were clueless. His head tilted to the side, his brow knit together in confusion. Jean grinned.

 

“ _Baby!_ ”

 

                The people who had been initially confused broke into smiles, the others singing along with as much gusto as they could manage, their cheerful voices filling the room.

 

“ _I know you’re asking me to stay. Say please, please, please don’t go away. You say I’m giving you the blues_.”

 

                Jeans eyes unexpectedly found Marco again as he walked in front of one of the people he just so happened to have his gaze on. He was bringing out another round of drinks, balancing the tray precariously on his forearm as he rounded up the table’s empty glasses. He looked nervous, his eyes constantly flitting between the wobbling tray and the floor, as though he were expecting it to lose balance and go crashing to the floor at any moment. Though it never did. Jean couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride for having been the one to teach him the trick to that.

 

“ _Hah. You mean every word you say, can’t help but think of yesterday. And another who tied me down to the lover boy rules_.”

 

                After chatting with one of the women at the table for a minute, who had been batting her eye’s at Marco rather suggestively (much to his chagrin, and Jean’s amusement), he disappeared behind the wooden doors to the kitchen, obscured from Jean’s view. Jean couldn’t help but feel disappointed, though he had no idea why.

 

“ _Before this river becomes an ocean, before you throw my heart back on the floor_. _Oh, oh baby, I reconsider my foolish notion. Well, I need someone to hold me, but I wait for something more_.”

 

                As Jean began to draw the song to a close, he subtly stretched his limbs. They had grown stiff from the slouched position he had been sitting in all this time. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he could hear his mom scolding him. It had basically been branded into his brain after how many times had repeated herself.

                Jean just barely managed to suppress the urge to roll his eyes.

 

“ _Yes, I gotta have faith. Ohh, I gotta have faith. Because I gotta have faith, ah-faith, ah-faith. I gotta have faith, ah-faith, ah-faith, ahh_.”

 

                Picking up the pace, he began to strum faster, adding in more notes as he went and tapping his foot against the floor to add to the rhythm. A few people in the crowd began to dance in place, making the corners of Jean’s lips twitch up. He had forgotten just how much he loved this; performing, and the way people reacted to it. It had always brought a sort of calm and quite to his normally stressful life. He was always the happiest in moments like these, seeing the smiles that his music created. Not that he would ever say any of that out loud. That would sound stupid.

                As he drew the song to a close, the round of applause throughout the bar near deafening, he bowed dramatically, causing a few people to laugh. After giving a word of thanks, he retreated from the stage, a small smile forming on his lips.

 

Xxx

 

                “No, no, I’m telling you man, she was totally hitting on you.” Connie slurred, clapping a hand down on Marco’s shoulder. Marco rolled his eyes, smiling good naturedly.

                It was 12:34, nearly an hour after closing time. Most of the employees, usually _not_ including Jean, would stay after they had closed down to hangout, seeing as they never really got to during the day, it was usually way too busy for idle chatter. Though Connie and Eren usually found a way. Surprisingly enough, Franz never noticed a few missing bottles of whiskey or rum, thank god for them. If he was even slightly more observant, they would have been dead meat by now as this little ritual had been going on for almost two years.

                Jean wasn’t really sure why he had let himself be dragged into this, seeing as he wasn’t particularly close with any of these guys. He told himself it was just because it was Marco’s ‘welcome to the gang’ party, and that he was trying to make it up to the guy after their rocky introduction. After all, he really wasn’t a bad guy.

                “Maybe.  But she was also drunk.” Marco reminded.

                Connie slapped his hands down onto the surface of the table, nearly knocking over Eren and Jean’s drinks in the process. Jean growled a curse in Connie’s direction, but it fell on deaf ears. No one was paying attention to him. “So what, man?! You totally could have gotten those digits!”

                Marco shrugged, smiling slightly, but looking very uninterested in the topic at hand. “I guess so.”

                Throwing his head back in exasperation, Connie gave up, bringing his glass up to his mouth to take a drink. Jean followed suit, glancing down at his cup once he had done so. It was nearly empty. Looks like he would be walking home tonight. There was no way in hell he way paying that steep ass fare for a cab just to drive him two blocks. It was fucking ridiculous.

                “Hey, Connie, what was that you were saying earlier?” Said man cocked a questioning eyebrow at Eren. “You know, about the game that you downloaded last night. You were telling me about ho…-”

                Jean tuned them out them, opting to instead turn and stare out of the window, his cheek resting in the palm of his hand. The glass was starting to fog up, due to the cold, icy air beginning to creep over it from outside. Tiny beads of perspiration began to form; sliding mesmerizingly down once it had filled up with as much moisture as it could hold. As Jean watched, he began to imagine that they were racing, and betting on which bead would reach the bottom before the other. He was on a winning streak when an elbow nudged him in the side.

                He turned, meeting Marco’s calm, chocolate gaze. This close, Jean could almost make out tiny shapes within the freckles smattered across Marco’s cheeks and nose. A square here, a hexagon there, and-

                “Jean?”

                Jean’s eyes darted back up to Marco’s. “What?” He replied lamely, his tongue feeling heavy and sluggish in his mouth. Ok, so maybe drinking three glasses of whiskey had not been a good idea. But in his defense, he _usually_ had a very good tolerance to alcohol.

                “I _said_ ,” Marco began patiently, and Jean realized, pink beginning to dust his cheeks, that Marco must have been talking to him the entire time. And there he had been, staring at his freckles and picking shapes out of them like a complete creep. _Yeah, this is totally a great way to make the guy want to be your friend. Good job, Jean!_ “Are you ok? You look upset.”

                 Before he could answer, another voice spoke up, cutting him off. “He’s just mad because he fucked up his little performance in-front of my sister.” Jean jerked his head in Eren’s direction, eyes blazing. Marco shifted uncomfortable, eyes flitting between the two.

                “Shut the fuck up, Jaeger!”

                Said man sat up a little straighter, turquoise eyes gleaming as he leaned forward across the table. “Why don’t you come over here and make me, _Horseface_?” There was a moment of tense silence before Jean rose from the booth, hand darting across and making a grab for Eren.

                Laughing, Eren ducked under his hand, and slid across Connie and out of the seat, knocking over a few drinks in the process. Gasping, Marco also stood from the booth, along with Connie and Jean, who were now thoroughly doused whiskey.

                “Shit!” Jean hissed, holding the bottom of his shirt out and away from his body. “I swear to _fuck_ Jaeger I’m going to k-“ As he took a few threatening steps forward, fists clenched, Connie intervened, stepping in between the two. Eren sneered at Jean over Connie’s shoulder.

                Before Jean could react, Connie spoke. “Marco, mind taking Jean outside? These two idiots and alcohol are not a good combination.” Marco quickly agreed, eyes wide, and made a move to take Jean’s arm. Jean jerked away, giving Eren one last dark look before turning away.

                “I can get there myself.” He snapped as he yanked open the door, stepping outside and letting the icy night air envelop him.  Marco followed shortly after, closing the door quietly behind him.

                The only sound between them for a few moments was their quiet breaths, and the sounds of nightlife being emitted from the city surrounding them; the whir of electricity, cars honking, a jet flying just over head, and from somewhere or another, a train winding its way along the outskirts.

                Closing his eyes, Jean exhaled heavily through his nose, trying clearing his alcohol hazed mind. The now near freezing material that was clinging to his skin was becoming a bit uncomfortable, but like hell he would go back in there with _Jaeger_. _Stupid fuck, why is he the one that gets to sit inside in the warm bar, probably talking shit and laughing about me with Connie?_ Jean clenched his fists, his jaw flexing in anger. _But still, who would have thought that the idiot would have such a divine goddess for a sister? Maybe I should start playing a little nicer… get to know her._ Jean thought on this for a moment before uttering a short, bitter laugh. _Fuck that_.

                He had almost completely forgotten about Marco’s presence, until he felt a warm hand come down on his shoulder. His eyes opened, honeyed hues sliding to the right, looking the freckled man over with curiosity. He gazed back, his lips drawn into a tight line. “ _What_?”

                “You’re shaking.”

                “ _Yeah_ , it’s fucking cold.”  

Marco looked away for a moment and removed his hand, appearing slightly taken back by his harsh tone. Jean bit his lip, looking forward again and crossing his arms against his chest, trying to suppress his shuddering. _I’m such an asshole._ “Well,” Marco began, pausing for a moment and seeming to think over his words. “do you have a jacket or anything inside? I could get it for you if you want.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, motioned back towards the bar.

                Jean glanced sideways at him. Why was he being so nice to him? This guy barely knew him, and he definitely hadn’t made a good first impression on him. He’d done nothing but make a complete ass out of himself in the ten or eleven hours since they’d met. It didn’t make sense to him at all. He didn’t deserve it. “I don’t have one.”

                Marco’s brows scrunched together in confusion, his nose crinkling. “You don’t have a _jacket_? _At all_?” He asked incredulously.

                Jean rolled his eyes, not able to contain his slight laughter at Marco’s expression. “No, idiot. I don’t have a jacket _inside_.”

                With Jean’s laugher, the tension seemed to shatter, fading away almost instantly. Marco smiled at the sound, looking down and scuffing his shoe against the pavement. “Oh, duh.”

                A small smile still tugging at the corners of his lips, he raised his hands to his face, cupping them in front of his mouth and breathing a bit into them. It probably wouldn’t have been so cold outside, had it not been for the sharp gusts of icy wind that would rush past them, biting at them through their clothes and sending them shivering. The corners of Jean’s lips turned down slightly as he stared out into chilly night, blowing another gust of warm air into his hands. _I wish it was summer_.

                Suddenly, something warm was being draped around his shoulders. Jean flinched, whipping his head around. Marco was in the process of pulling his _own_ jacket around Jean, a light smile on his lips. Jean noticed that Marco’s nose was red, and judging by the sounds he was making, it was beginning to run as well. His usually tanned cheeks were likewise tinged with color, but Marco didn’t seem to mind at all. Catching Jean’s eye as he finally managed to get the jacket to stay in place, his eyes became questioning at the look of chagrin flashing across his face. “Your face is awfully red, Jean. Maybe we should go ins-“

                “I’m fine.” Jean said, turning his head away from Marco to hide his now burning cheeks. This guy was now, quite literally, giving him the clothes right off of his back. “And take your damn jacket back. You’re going to get sick.” He said, shrugging the jacket from around his shoulders and holding it out.

                Marco was beginning to seem selfless, and not in the good sense of the word. One of those people that wore themselves thin giving out so much to others, that they didn’t have anything left to give themselves. Jean had never understood those types of people, all you have in the end is yourself, so you have to watch your own back and be there for yourself, yeah? Not go around being a fucking door mat, letting people wipe their filthy feet all over you just for their own good. How would that make any fucking sense?

                Marco shook his head, laughing. “I’m fine; you were the one who was shaking! Keep it. You can give it back to me tomorrow.”

                Jean, growing exasperated, pushed the jacket further forward and against his chest. “Just take it, it isn’t an argument. I don’t need it.”

                Marco smiled, taking Jean’s hand in his own and pushing it back and away from him. “I know that it’s not an argument,” he said, releasing his hand. “So why don’t you just go ahead and put it on.”

                Jean and Marco stared each other down for a moment; Jean narrowing his eyes into slits, and Marco grinning innocently. Finally, letting out a string of curses, Jean slipped back into the jacket, shoving his arms through the arm holes and yanking it down into place. Zipping it up in an overly dramatic fashion, and thanking god that it didn’t get stuck in the process, he spread out his arms, gesturing to himself. “Happy?”

                “Very much so.” Jean shook his head as he turned to watch a car pass them by, nearly blinding them both with its headlights.

                Marco’s jacket was warm, and Jean found himself sinking lower into it and absorbing as much of its heat as he could. But the further he sunk, the more distinct a certain aroma was becoming. It was hard to place, because it wasn’t one thing specifically, but many scents mixed all into one. It was a scent of warmth and homeliness, emitting a sort of calm over Jean. It smelled vaguely of chamomile and cedar, and maybe just a touch of… lavender? He couldn’t really be sure.

                “Better?” Marco asked, his voice shattering through Jean’s musings. Jean glanced over at him, nodding, the hint of a smile ghosting over his lips.

                “Yeah.”

                Marco gave him a wry smile, opening his mouth to speak, when his phone began to vibrate from within the front pocket of his jeans. Shifting slightly, he dug his phone out and squinted at the excessively bright screen. Jean looked forward again, tilting his head back to gaze at the night sky; dusky purple fading to midnight blue, lightly dusted with stars. Wisps of gray clouds swept across the sky, passing swiftly across the luminous moon and stars. A gust of frigid fall air snuck its way up and under the confines of Marco’s jacket, which Jean was clutching tightly against himself, and he shivered. It had gotten so cold, so fast, almost without warning. It seemed like barely a week ago that Jean had been complaining about the heat.

                Exhaling, Jean watched as the white cloud of vapor ascended above him, before dissipating completely into the atmosphere. Within a few seconds, another breath followed. And another. By the time Jean had counted five breaths, watching as they vanished a few inches above him, Marco spoke up.

                “Hey, I have to go. I have somewhere to be in the morning before work, so I can’t really be out all night.”

                Jean nodded, pulling his hands into the pockets of the jacket. As much as he didn’t want to give it back, as he would be walking home in the cold soon, he felt inclined to. This guy had been nothing but nice to him from the get-go, and like fuck he was going to take advantage of his kindness. He didn’t deserve that, if anything he deserved to be repaid for all of the kindness he had shown Jean today, despite how much of an asshole Jean had come off as. He still wasn’t really sure why that was. But, regardless of his reasons, Jean was going to return the favor.

                “Alright. Hey, uh, Marco?”

                Marco had been turning to leave, but twisted around again, his eyes questioning. “Yes, Jean?” Jean opened his mouth, hand already gesturing down at the jacket. But before he could get a word out, Marco spoke again, cutting him off. “And this _better_ not be about the jacket again.” Though his tone was (playfully) threatening, he was smiling warmly, his eyes gleaming due to the florescent street light hanging overhead.   

                Jean laughed, releasing another burst of white vapor, and put his hands up defensively. “Alright, alright, point taken. I was just trying to be nice.”

                Marco tilted his head, feigning a look of surprise. “Jean Kirschtein? _Nice_? Impossible.” Jean scowled, amber eyes narrowing, though he was fighting a smile. In all honesty, if anyone but Marco had said that to him, he probably would have hit them. But he just couldn’t seem to bring himself to being _actually_ angry with him, no matter how much of a cheeky little shit he was being at the moment.

                “I can be _nice_.” He replied with a scoff, crossing his arms over his chest as another surge of chilly wind ripped through the city. The temperature was dropping like a rock, and he was _not_ looking forward to walking home in this shit and freezing his balls off. At least standing here they were, some-what, blocked from the wind, due to the bar and the direction of the air currents.

                 What he _was_ looking forward to, though, was getting home, kicking off his shoes, and crawling into his warm bed and snuggling in for the night and finally, _finally_ , drifting off to sleep. He could almost hear it calling his name. “I know,” Marco’s soft voice drug Jean out of his daydream of warm sheets and soft pillows, snapping him back to reality. “I was kidding, don’t look so grumpy.” Jean rolled his eyes, a smile fighting it’s way to his lips despite his efforts to stop it. Marco smiled back at him, practically beaming. _This guy._ “That’s more like it.”

                  “Yeah, yeah. Congratulations, you made me smile. Now go on, you moron. You’re going to freeze to death.” Marco didn’t need to be told twice. Giving Jean a wave and shouting a farewell over his shoulder, he made his way across the parking lot and towards a white ford focus.

                Smiling to himself and drawing himself deeper into the jacket, he began to walk, intent to make it home as quickly as possible.

                Marco… Marco wasn’t half bad. Sure, he was a little too nice, irritably so at times, and he seemed to not have very much regard for his own welfare, but there was just something about him that Jean liked. 

                Stepping over a parking curb and onto the side walk on the other side, Jean turned right and began the long, soon to be miserably cold, trek home. Almost instantly the icy air was on him, rushing past him and blowing his shaggy ash-brown hair up and away from his forehead. Shoving his chin down into the collar of the jacket as not to expose his throat to the cold, he frowned. He didn’t usually take a liking to people this quickly. Hell, he didn’t usually take a liking to people _period_. It was as unnatural to him as common sense was to Eren. So, maybe… Maybe Marco’s friendliness was all an act. Maybe underneath that kind façade, he was really just as foul as everyone else Jean had ever met.

                 He’d known people like that before; people who fooled everyone around them in to thinking that they were this caring, warmhearted individual, and then using that same innocent mask that they had created to do whatever they wanted, without anyone suspecting a thing.

                _Like murdering people_. 

                ….Yeah, Jean was an avid Criminal Minds fan.

                Still, the point remained; This freckled man could be deceiving him. Very few people in his life had actually managed to befriend him, and it had usually been on one of his better days- And today was most definitely _not_ one of his better days. Suspicion and conspiracy theories began battling over his murky, tired mind, and he almost didn’t notice the car pulling over right next to him.

                Light washed over his tall, wiry form, illuminating him against the darkness. Turning and squinting against the glare of the headlights he cupped his hands over his eyes in attempt to discern whether or not he knew the driver, or if he should start running. He’d seen one too many episodes that had played out exactly like this…

                The car came to a stop a few feet in front of him, and Jean was instantly doused with a cold wave of relief as a familiar dark haired head poked out of the passenger side window. “Jesus Christ, Marco. You scared the shit out of me. What are you doing?”

                “I could ask you the same thing.” He countered, his eyebrows drawn together in concern. His lips were pressed together in a small, displeased line. He was the precise image of a parent who was about to give their child the scolding of a lifetime, and Jean nearly laughed.

                “I’m walking home, what does it look like?”

                “You could have asked if you needed a ride.”

                “Marco, I’m a big boy. I can walk myself home just fine, I-“

                “It’s freezing out, Jean, and the nearest apartment complex is almost five miles from here. You couldn’t seriously have been planning to walk all that way with nothing but a thin jacket on.” Jean didn’t answer; he only stood, staring at Marco impassively, his arms folded across his chest. This was beginning to feel a bit too similar to his mother nagging him about poor decisions regarding his welfare, and Jean didn’t know whether to laugh, have his heart warmed, or tell him to fuck off and worry about himself.

                Sighing, Marco shifted, running a hand through his dark, now messy, hair. “Just get in the car.” As Jean opened his mouth to protest, fed up with Marco’s attempts of coddling him, Marco silenced him with one raised finger, an exhausted look on his face. “I don’t care to drive you home, but I don’t want to have an argument about it; I’m too tired. It will be nice to have someone to talk to, anyway. So, please, Jean, let me drive you home.”

                He wasn’t sure what it was, maybe it was the whiskey fucking with his judgment, but something about those last few words caused a tugging sensation in his chest, leaving him momentarily off balance. The words themselves had been simple enough, a mere request, but it was the underlying meaning beneath them that had caused a sudden warmth to spread throughout his upper body.

                He had never really been accustomed to people going out of their way for him, or really even caring enough to do so; but then he met Marco. This warm, good-natured, cheeky little shit who absolutely _refused_ , even after only a day, to let Jean wallow in his misery. It was as if he had made it his own personal mission to pull Jean out of the cold, isolated ditch he had thrown himself in, and shroud him in the warmth and light that he almost seemed to radiate. He-

                “Jean?” Bringing himself back down to earth, he realized that Marco was staring at him, his dark eyes questioning. He didn’t know how long he had stood there, lost in his own thoughts, but he would have been willing to bet that it was long enough for Marco to question his competence.

                Blinking a few times, Jean shook the dumbfounded expression off his face best he could and took a few shuffling steps forward. “Alright.” He mumbled, reaching for the door handle. He, much like Marco, was too tired to argue about it at this point. His thoughts were beginning to haze, and all he could seem to think about was the warmth of his bed that was waiting on him at home. Marco, seeming elated that Jean had given in without much fuss, smiled and scooted back into the driver’s side to make room for him.

                The car’s warmth enveloped him almost the second he closed the door, and he sighed in relief, settling against the cushiony seats of the car. He had almost forgotten how tired he was, thanks to all the excitement of the night. But now, nestled in the warm safety of Marco’s car, he could feel his lids growing heavy, and his heart rate slowing. Breathing in deeply, he allowed a small, languid smile to crawl to his lips.

                Marco noticed, laughing quietly to himself before pulling out from the curb he had parked beside.  Jean forced his eyes all the way open at the sound of Marco’s voice, fighting internally with himself for a moment before spitting out a quiet: “Marco?”

                “Mm?” Marco hummed as he brought the car to a stop under a red light, his eyes trailing after a few drunkards, stumbling their way along the sidewalk. Jean could tell he was tired, too, maybe even exhausted. His eyes were weary, the brightness usually shining in them dimmed considerably. His hair was messy; a few tuffs sticking straight up here and there, while his bangs hung limply over his forehead, and his clothes were more than a little rumpled. It had been a hard first day on him, and it was showing. _And yet here he is, driving my ass home._

                “Thanks.” He managed, turning his head to gaze out the window awkwardly. _I am so shit at this._        

Jean could see Marco turn his head in his direction from the corner of his eye, a silent question in the air. But after a moment, he seemed to understand, and smiled softly to himself; unbeknownst to Jean.

                “You’re welcome.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a pain in the ass to write. So much credit to my friend Sara for all of the help she has provided me with throughout writing it. I got stuck more than a few times, so without her it would be absolute crap. 
> 
> Anyway, I will try to have the next update up soon. Hopefully by the end of this weekend.


	3. Worst Day Ever

The sunlight, filtering through the blinds and splaying itself across Jean's face, woke him before his alarm did. He shut his eyes just as quickly as he had opened them, a tired groan slipping out from between his lips.

Rolling over onto his back and bringing a pillow down over his face, he began to slowly slip back into unconsciousness, his thoughts blurring once again.

A sudden blaring noise sent him bolting upright in bed, cursing and scrambling to slam a hand down over the 'snooze' button on the accursed alarm clock. He sat there for a few moments, letting the now deafening silence wash over him, heart still drumming in his chest from the sudden shock.

He should be used to this routine by now, as he went through it every morning, but it was just something that never got easier or more bearable for him. He hated mornings.  _So much_. He couldn't even begin to imagine how  _anyone_  in their right mind could get joy out of them.

His thoughts unexpectedly flashed to Marco, and he snorted. He could  _definitely_  see him being a morning person.

Sighing, he slumped back down against the pillows, bringing his hands up and digging them into the sockets of his eyes, attempting to wake himself up.

He hadn't slept well last night, which was strange for him. Usually, as soon as his head hit the pillow, he was out like a light; Sometimes even  _before_  his body had touched the bed he would be rendered unconscious. But last night he just hadn't been able to get to sleep, despite how exhausted he had been. He had just laid there in irritation, glaring out into the darkness for what seemed like hours, tossing this way and that. He wasn't sure when he had finally drifted off, but what he  _was_  sure of was that the amount of sleep he had gotten was going to be nowhere near enough to get him through this day. He was never very pleasant when he was running low on sleep. Hell, he was never really pleasant  _anyway_ , so today it would be in everyone's best interest to just steer clear.

Once again, the alarm clock began screeching at him, causing his body to spasm. Growling, he slapped a hand down over the irritating device, lifting it up and away from his nightstand, and flung it into an unknown corner of the room. He smiled in satisfaction as he heard it clatter to the floor, finally shutting up and leaving him in silence once more.

After allowing himself a few more moments to lounge, enjoying the warmth beneath the covers and the sleepy feeling that was beginning to creep back over him, causing his lids to feel heavy again, he slowly sat up. Rubbing at his eye with the back of his hand, he yawned noisily and slipped out of bed, cringing when the sole of his foot came into contact with the stingingly cold floor below. Resisting the urge to draw his feet back into the bed and under the sheets, he stood, stretching his arms above his head as he padded his way out into the living room.

It was cold, much too cold for his liking. But there wasn't much to be done about it. He struggled to pay rent as it was, and cranking up the heat a few extra notches would definitely not be good for his already nonexistent funds. He crossed his arms over his bare chest, attempting to ignore the goosebumps that he could fill pricking his skin.  _Still_ , he thought,  _it would be nice._

Glancing over to the clock that hung on the wall, just to the left of the fridge, Jean squinted to make out the time. Eleven thirty.  _Two hours until I have to go back to that shit hole disguised as a bar._

Scowling at the thought of work and dealing with the shitty, drunk customers that frequented there, he turned, making his way over to his beloved coffee pot; the only surefire thing that could brighten his mood. Hopefully.

As he worked on preparing his cup, he thought back to last night, feeling his cheeks redden slightly at remembering Marco having to drive him all the way home.  _Not that he had to, but he's just_ _ **so**_ _damn nice like that and can't leave well enough alone._

If he  _had_  to be honest with himself, Jean wasn't even really annoyed by the fact that Marco had insisted on taking him home, it had actually ( _strangely_ ) warmed him that he had cared enough to force the help on him. But like fuck he would ever actually say that. He was just… embarrassed? He wasn't really sure  _why_ that he was, but he felt it none the less. It just seemed a little humiliating to him, relying on others for help. He had mostly always been on his own, and had become more than accustomed to supporting himself. So, yeah, this was more than a little odd to him.

Shaking off the thought, he drew his eyes away from the wall they had settled on, and onto the coffee pot again. Finding that his coffee had finally brewed, he opened the cabinet above his head and picked out his favorite cup; a large, black coffee mug with the words 'Fuck Off' written across its surface in bold white letters. He smiled at the sight of it. It had been a gift from one of his friends before he had moved away from home. He couldn't remember the occasion, but he could remember being psyched about it. He had used it proudly every day, much to his parents chagrin. They had hated that damn cup.

Once he had poured himself a reasonable amount of coffee, by his standards, he wandered over to the window. Sipping on the near scalding drink and reveling in the earthy aftertaste that it left on his tongue, he parted the blinds slightly, gazing up at the dreary sky. It was going to rain.

Suddenly remembering that he had no way to work other than to walk, he hissed out a quiet " _Shit._ " This day was already looking down for him, and he had only just woken up. He hoped that the rain would hold off long enough for him to get there without being drenched in a downpour.

 

Xxx

 

Marco loved mornings; he always had. They were peaceful, and he always found himself looking forward to a cup of steaming tea and a book to lose himself in the moment he opened his eyes. He had been finding himself especially pleased with his mornings since moving to Manhattan a few weeks prior. Having saved up quite a bit of cash throughout high school, thanks to a few odd jobs here and there and more than a fair share of chores, he had been able to afford a rather nice studio apartment with a spectacular view of the city, which he was now enjoying from his balcony.

As he leaned out over the railing, tilting his head back to gaze at the darkening sky, he frowned slightly. Rain.

It wasn't that Marco didn't like rain. Quite the opposite; he loved it. The sound and sight of it had always brought a sort of calm over him, and more than a few of his best memories had taken place during a rainy day.

But no, the reason the sight of the stormy looking clouds had brought his mood down considerably was Jean. He'd taken him home yesterday, due to the fact that he'd had just a bit too much to drink, and he had left his car behind. He was feeling partially to blame for Jean not having a ride to work. After all, he had practically forced him into the car.  _But what was I supposed to do? Pass him up and leave him there, stranded to walk home in the cold by himself?_  The thought of that just didn't sit right with him. He had been more than capable of helping out, and if he had just ignored that and went on his way, what kind of person would he be?

Besides, he felt that he kind of owed it to Jean. He had spent the entire afternoon yesterday showing him the ropes and breaking him into his new job. It had been tiring, and he'd snapped at Marco  _more_  than a few times, but he had never given up, despite the fact that his patience must have been wearing thin. Every time he had screwed up, nearly sending a plate crashing to the floor or bumping into a table while trying to balance a tray precariously on his arm (causing it to scrape against the wooden floor and emit the most  _god awful_  sound Marco sworn he'd ever heard), Jean would just roll his eyes, take a deep breath, and show him again.

Marco found himself grinning at the memory as he gazed up at the stormy looking clouds above. Jean was honestly not that bad. Once you got past his brash attitude and ways of speaking, he was actually really cool to be around. He had ended up enjoying the day because of him, despite how nervous he had been initially. First days are always nerve wracking, but Jean made it not so bad at all.

He discovered, throughout the course of a few conversations, that they had quite a few things in common, such as; Jean liked a lot of the same movies he liked, as well as video games. That was one topic that Jean liked to talk about. He had spent almost twenty minutes chattering away at him about some game that Marco had never heard of, much to Jean's surprise. Of course, that only spurred him on further, as he proceeded inform Marco of every detail of the game that he could recall. It was the most he had said all day, and the excited spark that had lit in his eyes as he spoke left Marco not really minding at all.

He also learned that Jean had moved to Manhattan from another city, same as himself. But where-as Jean had only moved one or two cities over, he had traveled all the way from Boston, Massachusetts. Jean hadn't seemed surprised about that at all, and when Marco had asked about it, he'd replied with a cryptic, " _You can just tell you aren't from around here_." which had left him semi-self conscious for the remainder of the day.

Snapping himself out of his thoughts, he fished his phone out of the front pocket of his hoodie, unlocking it and scrolling down his contact list until he found who he was looking for.

 

**To: Connie Springer**

**Hey, can I ask you for a favor?**

**Sent: 11:51 AM, November 29** **th** **, 2013**

 

Slipping his phone back into his pocket, he pressed his thumb against his lips, pushing the tip into his mouth and chewing at the nail absentmindedly.

He had a feeling Jean would be pissed at him if he just showed up to his apartment unannounced, no matter how good his intentions, so it would probably be a good idea to ask first...

Well… he would probably  _still_  be pretty irritated for having help forced on him once again, as he seemed like a pretty independent person, but he just couldn't help it! He had to at least offer, if anything.

 

**From: Connie Springer**

**uhhh maybe who is this?**

**Received: 11:52 AM, November 29** **th** **, 2013**

 

Marco snorted, shaking his head as he typed out his reply.

 

**To: Connie Springer**

**Marco Bodt**

**Sent: 11:52 AM, November 29** **h** **, 2013**

 

Dropping his phone back into his pocket, he slipped back into the apartment, pressing the door closed behind him with his foot, and making his way towards the couch. Once he had flopped down onto its cushions and made himself comfortable, he turned on the TV, switching it over to the news. He was in luck, as the reporter had just begun to show the forecast for today.

Much to his displeasure, it was apparently going to storm all day, and it was supposed to get pretty bad. That worried him, more than a little. As much as Marco loved the rain, he was  _not_  a fan of thunder and lightning.  _At all_.

He had been terrified of it ever since he was seven years old, due to a not so pleasant memory. Thinking back, he could remember more than a few instances where he had laid in bed all night, cowering under the covers and yelping each time a crack of lightening ripped through the sky. It was such a stupid thing for a  _grown adult_  to still be afraid of, and knew he was being irrational, as it couldn't  _actually_  hurt him. But regardless, it never failed to send him screeching and diving under his covers each time.

_I hope it doesn't get too bad tonight._

Shaking away the train of thought, he checked his phone once again.

 

**From: Connie Springer**

**ohhhhh dude sorry about that. i completely forgot about giving it to you, but yeah whats up**

**Received: 12:02 PM, November 29** **th** **, 2013**

 

He honestly was not surprised at all that Connie didn't remember. He had been more than a little drunk when he'd snatched Marco's phone from his hands and messily typed his number into his contact's list, slurring at him that he should ' _hit him up_ ' sometime. Which, honestly, didn't seem like that bad of an idea; Marco liked Connie. Before the drama with Eren and Jean, he'd been really nice to talk to. He also wicked since of humor that had kept him clutching his stomach for a majority of the night.

 

**To: Connie Springer**

**I was wondering if you would mind giving me Jean's number? I kind of need it**

**Sent: 12:03 PM, November 29** **th** **, 2013**

 

The reply came almost instantly.

 

**From: Connie Springer**

**trying to hit that?**

**Sent: 12:03 PM, November 29** **th** **, 2013**

 

Marco's mind went blank, void of any responses. He felt his face grow hot under his freckles as he stared at the phone, fingers hovering over the screen as he frantically scrambled for a response. I mean,  _sure_ , Jean was attractive. He wasn't going to deny that, it was plain as day to anyone with a pair of eyes, (though he couldn't exactly imagine him telling  _Jean_  that), but still. Jean was just a friend, a very new one at that; they barely knew each other, and-

_Dammit, Marco, you're taking too long. He's going to get suspicious. But what am I supposed to say to that?!_

His phone began buzzing in his palm, causing his eyes to focus back on the screen.

 

**From: Connie Springer**

**dude im just kidding don't freak out on me**

**Sent: 12:06 PM, November 29** **h** **, 2013**

 

Marco snorted at himself, rolling his eyes and letting out the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding in. Of course he had been kidding.

Shortly after, Connie sent him Jean's number, and after sending him a quick thanks, he shot Jean a text before throwing his phone onto the couch and making his way to the bathroom for a shower.

 

Xxx

 

Jean was lounging on the couch, a book flipped open to an unknown page and draped over his face, when his eyes fluttered opened and were met with darkness. Momentarily disoriented and convinced that he had overslept, he shot up like a bullet. But as the book fell away from his vision and snapped shut against his lap, eyes nearly being blinded by the searing light pouring in through the curtains, he sighed and slumped back against the armrest.  _Of course I wouldn't be so lucky._

Rubbing his hands against his face, he sunk lower into the worn, grey sofa so that his legs were dangling across the other side. It was a cramped couch that was hard pressed to fit his long, wiry form, let alone two.  _Who am I kidding? I never have anyone over often enough to worry about that problem anyway._

He soon found his thoughts wandering towards pay day, and wondering if it would be enough to purchase himself a decent couch from the furniture store that was about a ten minute drive from his complex, given that traffic wasn't horrific.  _Might as well trash that hope, Kirschtein, this is Manhattan we're talking about here._

His phone began to violently buzz on the wooden coffee table to his right, where he had dropped it next to a small, empty vase that he had gotten as a house warming gift from an old girlfriend. He couldn't remember her name. He wasn't sure why he had kept it sitting out, in all honesty. He had never once used it in the whole two years he had lived here. No one ever bought him flowers, and he sure as shit wasn't going to buy any for himself. That would just be.. weird. He'd never been a fan of them anyway; they made him sneeze like hell.

Jean stretched out a hand, picked the phone up, and glanced at the screen.  **1 New Text.** It was from an unknown number. Scrunching his eyebrows together, he unlocked his phone to read it.

 

**From: Unknown Number**

**Hey, are you awake?**

**Received: 12:11 PM, November 29** **th** **, 2013**

 

As he typed out a reply, his mind began to do a run through of who it could be, seeing as he didn't really know that many people; well, know enough for them to be texting him out of the blue like this. It definitely wasn't anyone he worked with, because he already had all of their numbers saved, though he rarely spoke to any them outside of the bar. And it couldn't be any of his old friends from high school, seeing as he had long since lost contact with most of them after moving away.

 

**To: Unknown Number**

**who's asking?**

**Sent: 12:12 PM, November 29th, 2013**

 

After hitting send, he sat up, scratching at the barely noticeable scruff on his chin in thought as he stared at the screen, waiting for the mystery person's reply. There was really only one person that was coming to mind, though he wasn't sure how he would have gotten his number in the first place, seeing as they had only just met yesterday. Unless he had been drunker than he'd thought and had slipped it to him at some point. But, that didn't really seem like something he would do, drunk or not.

After almost three minutes of waiting, Jean lost his patience and tossed his phone back to the table in mild irritation as he stood, where it clattered nosily against the hard wooden surface before coming to a rest, face down. He cringed at the sound, bending to gingerly flip the device back over to make sure that it hadn't shattered, and letting out a small huff of relief when he found that it wasn't. If it had, that would have made the third one he'd had to replace in the span of two months. He was constantly destroying them; whether it be from dropping it on accident, to throwing it in a fit of rage. He couldn't even begin to count how many he had either broken or lost in the past year.

Once he had carefully placed it back down, he made his way towards the bathroom, stopping on the way to grab a towel that had been thrown carelessly to the floor at some point. Raising it to his face, he shoved his nose into the rough fabric and sniffed. It smelled vaguely of old water and shampoo. Shrugging, he slung it over his bare shoulder.  _Good enough._

As he pushed his way into the bathroom, causing the door to bang unceremoniously against the wall, he picked up an unmistakable buzz sounding from the living room.  _Too fucking bad, you're just going to have to wait_ , he thought as he hooked his fingers into the elastic waist band around his hips.

After stepping out of his boxers and kicking them off of the ankle they had somehow managed to loop around, he turned the faucet on the highest setting it would allow before moving to step under the stream. Maybe a steamy, hot shower would help make this rainy Friday a little more bearable. Well, as bearable as it can get working in a bar and dealing with drunk assholes who are constantly sloshing their drinks around and making more messes than Jean, and the few others that worked there, could even begin to keep up with.

Hissing in shock as frigid water immediately began pelting against his chest, he stumbled backwards, shielding himself with his hands before turning to let it hammer against his back. "God  _dammit_!" Even after living in this shitty apartment complex for almost two years now, he could never seem to remember that it took at least five minutes, every single time, for the water to heat up. It was really his fault for not keeping up with that, but right now he was too tired to give a damn, and instead focused his irritation on his stupid landlords, and the stupid shower, and the stupid, fucking freezing water that was drilling into his skin and causing him to shiver.

As he stood there, arms crossed over his chest and scowling sleepily at the creamy white tiled wall in front of him, his thoughts began to drift towards breakfast. He could definitely go for some pancakes right now; warm and buttery, with just the right amount of syrup drizzled over top. Or,  _or_ , one of those bacon, egg, and cheese sandwiches, with the cheese melted just right and a steaming cup of black coffee to wash it all down. Or both. _Yeah_.

Mouth watering at the thought, he turned and allowed the now luke warm water to stream down over his body. Grabbing a bottle of shampoo from the top ledge of the shower, he squirted a bit into his hand, chuckling immaturely as it made a spluttering sound, before snapping the cap closed.

Images of his bed and food danced before his closed eyes as he began to work the shampoo into his scalp. Shifting his weight from foot to foot in a sort of lazy rhythm, he began to sing quietly to himself, voice barely audible over the drumming of the water against the tiles.

" _And I feel like I'm living the worst day, over and over again_."

 

Xxx

 

Marco puffed out a sigh of relief as he placed the last of the cardboard boxes down in on the hardwood floor, wiping a hand across his forehead as he smiled down at Mr. Kandinsky, a kindly elder man who lived on the floor above him.

Since moving in, he'd become rather close with Kandinsky after running into him more than a few times at a bookstore that was just down the road from the complex. He, like Marco, was an avid reader, and loved to discuss the books that he'd read and come across throughout his life. He was also big on sharing tales from the past, and reminiscing about all of the places he'd visited and the things that he had seen. Not that Marco minded at all, he loved hearing his stories; he found them fascinating, and the wistful gleam that he got in his eyes as he spoke always left Marco urging him on to share more, because he knew he wasn't the only one that was enjoying their time spent together.

"Spasibo, Marco. My strength just isn't what it used to be or I wouldn't have bothered you with this."

Marco waved his hand dismissively in front of him. "I already told you, it's no problem. I don't mind helping out." Kandinsky nodded, letting his gaze wander over the plethora of boxes that were stacked neatly in the center of the room.

"Since I'm certain you won't let me repay your kindness with money," He paused, glancing at Marco curiously, who only grinned in affirmation. "I guess this will have to do, until I can get you something better."

Before he had a chance to protest, Kandinsky was off and rifling through his desk drawers, cursing quietly in a thick Russian accent as he searched. Marco waited patiently next to a stack of boxes, idly checking his phone for any new texts.  _Still nothing yet_. He frowned as he stared at his empty inbox, wondering what was taking Jean so long to reply. He had texted him back over an hour ago, asking who he was, to which he had responded. But now.. nothing.

 _Stop being such a worry-wart, Marco. He probably just hasn't checked his phone yet._ Though he tried to assure himself that he was over thinking the situation, he couldn't help but feel slightly anxious.

"Aha! Found it." Marco snapped his gaze from his phone, and focused on what was in Kandinsky's hands as he approached.

"A book?" He said, a smile stretching across his face. Kandinsky nodded in confirmation as he held it out to him, which Marco took eagerly, flipping it sideways to read the spine. As his tawny eyes scanned the title, they grew wide with shock. "This," He flipped it over again, examining the front cover before snapping it open and scanning the first few pages. "Bound for Glory, and it's a first edition. These are over three hundred dollars, and really hard to find. How did you-"

Kandinsky only shrugged as Marco managed to tear his eyes away from the pages for a second to glance up at him, smiling warmly at his obvious excitement. "I'll take that as you like it?"

Finally looking up, Marco closed the book and drew him into a quick, tight hug, much to the elder's surprise. "Yes, I- thank you, I love it. But are you sure? This is a really rare book and-"

"Pish posh," He said, waving a hand at him as he pulled away from the embrace. "It was doing nothing besides collecting dust. I want you to have it."

Marco clutched the book to his chest as he looked down on Mr. Kandinsky with warmth and fondness, flailing to find the words to express his overflowing gratitude to this man. But just as he opened his mouth, the buzzing of his phone cut him off.

Flashing him an apologetic smile, he glanced down at the notification.

**1 New Message: Jean Kirschtein**

His fingers flew to open the text, overly eager for some strange reason.

 

**From: Jean Kirschtein**

**ohh, ok. yeah, i've been awake for a while now. why?**

**Received: 12:45 PM, November 29th, 2013**

 

Before he could even touch a finger to the screen, his phone buzzed again, another message following seconds after the other.

 

**From: Jean Kirschtein**

**wait, how did you get my number?**

**Received: 12:45 PM, November 29th, 2013**

 

 _Crap, now he thinks I'm a creep_. Marco began to type out a reply, explaining himself, but suddenly remembered the man standing before him and that he was, in fact, supposed to be helping him helping unpack the boxes that he had just unloaded from the UPS truck outside. This could wait.

Pressing the lock button on his phone, he shoved it back into his pocket. "So, which do you want to start with?" He asked, turning his gaze towards the stack to his right.

Kandinsky ignored the question, instead nodding towards Marco's now concealed phone. "Do you have something else you need to be doing?"

He shook his head quickly. "No, no. It's nothing, I-"

"Marco." He cut him off, not being fooled by his assurances. Marco paused, holding Kandinsky's eyes for a moment before sighing in defeat.

"I'm going to pick up a friend for work.. I think."

"You think?"

He laughed, rocking back on his heels. "Yeah, it's a long story. Basically, he doesn't have a way to get there, and I don't want him to have to walk through that." He said, motioning towards the window and at the darkening sky beyond the glass. "He's just really... stubborn. I don't think he likes accepting help."

Kandinsky nodded, a knowing smile playing across his weathered face as he took a seat atop one of the many boxes around them. "Ahh. He's independent, hm?" Marco nodded, smiling. "Nonna was the same, my wife. She was always so strong-willed, pig headed as I liked to call it." He shook his head. "But still, there's nothing like a headstrong woman to make you feel happy to be alive." He paused, seeming to lose himself in thought before glancing back up. "People like that, Marco, they're always tough to crack, and most of the time unwilling to do so. But once you do, and you get to their very core, nothing will ever compare."

Marco looked on as Kandinsky turned his gaze in the general direction of the window, blue eyes holding an emotion that he couldn't quite place. As he turned his head to look to the window as well, he had a feeling that he and the man before him weren't seeing the same thing at all.

They stayed like that for awhile, silence encasing them, save for the light rain pelting against the window, and the faint sounds of traffic drifting up to them from the busy streets below. The atmosphere in the room was thick and gloomy now, in stark contrast to how light it had been only moments ago.

Kandinsky was the one to break the silence first, sliding his gaze away from the window and uttering a short cough, eyes weary. "In any case, you should go. Help your friend. I can take care of the rest of this." He said, motioning around them.

"But I said I would help, and-"

"Marco, it's ok." Kandinsky insisted, looking up at him. "Your friend needs you more than I do right now." Marco stayed where he was, staring back with reluctance and twisting his hands together in front of him. Kandinsky sighed, and then added, "I'll leave the boxes that are too heavy for me lying out so that you can help me with them later, if that will ease your mind."

Marco visible relaxed at this, looking down for a moment in thought before speaking. "You're sure? I really don't mind to stay and help. I don't have to be at work for another.." He paused, checking his watch. "Thirty minutes, give or take."

Kandinsky nodded as he stood, shooing him off in the direction he had come from. "Yes, yes, I'll be fine. Now go, before this weather gets any worse." As he held open the door, Marco shuffled past him and into the hallway. He had only taken a few steps forward, eyes on the elevator doors ahead and mind musing over how he could convince Jean to ride with him, when he heard the man calling out to him again from behind. "Oh, and Marco?" The boy looked over his shoulder at the sound of his name, eyebrows raised.

"Hm?"

Kandinsky looked at him for a moment, mouth set in a thin, worried line, before shaking his head and giving him a quick smile. "Be careful driving, will you?"

Marco's eyes softened as he gave the man a nod, returning the smile. "I will." He raised his hand in a wave as he turned around again. "I'll see you later, Mr. K!"

Once the elevator doors had closed behind him, he pushed the button to the apartment complex's garage before leaning back against the mirrored wall and releasing a quiet sigh.  _Work._

Marco liked to think of himself as a relatively cheery person. For the most part, he didn't let the small things that he couldn't help weigh on his mind, and he tried to, more or less, see the positive side of things, rather than always focusing on the negative. But right now, the thought of going to work and having to get out in this nasty weather was making him wanting to curl up into a ball under his blankets and sleep for eternity.

It wasn't that he  _hated_  this job, honestly. The people he worked with had pretty much welcomed him into their little family with open arms and smiles (apart from Jean, who'd made him feel welcome in his own 'tough love' kind of way), and the work wasn't all that bad. But, work was work, and nobody was really going to look forward to it, he supposed.  _But still, doesn't mean I wouldn't rather be at home,_ he thought, looking down at the book in his hands. He was itching to read it, but that would have to wait, for now. Maybe he would have a chance during his break at work to crack it open, if they even  _had_  breaks.

Without warning, a deep, ominous rumble of thunder lightly shook the elevator, and no doubt the building it was attached to. Marco whimpered, clutching the book to his chest and gazing upwards as the small, single light that lit the cramped space dimmed momentarily, before returning to normal.  _This storm is definitely not going to be doing any favors for my mood, today,_  Marco thought sullenly as the elevator doors slid open with a  _ding_.

As he stepped out and into the car lot, fishing his keys out of his pocket, a sharp gust of icy wind swept through the garage, delivering him a face full of freezing rain water and, what felt to be, ice.

_At all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY 
> 
> there is really no good reason for why this is so late. i'm just pretty much the biggest procrastinator on the planet. and between that, school, and just life in general, i'm amazed that it got done at all.
> 
> so yeah, chapter two, pretty short and not much going on but, enjoy. ╮(─▽─)╭

**Author's Note:**

> ahh yeah i'm not really sure about this at all. i've never written a fic before, other than short drabble that went absolutely no where. so i apologize wholeheartedly if this sucks and if they are not in character. im still trying to figure it all out
> 
> (i should probably mention that the franz in this fic is not the same franz as in the anime/manga, so if he seemed out of character to you, thats why.)


End file.
